The $61 Billion Defeat

Quoting from yesterday, "Tomorrow my knife will be up America's anus; tomorrow God will cut out one of America's eyes."

Today is tomorrow. Let's wait and see.

Today we are at the final line of the eighth and final verse of our battle map poem, Robert Burns' 1785 classic, To A Mouse, On Turning Her Up In Her Nest With The Plough.

Still thou art blest, compar'd wi' me
The present only toucheth thee
But, och! I backward cast my e'e
On prospects drear!
An forward, tho' I canna see,
I GUESS AN' FEAR!